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In the name of equality |
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By Khaled Diab |
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January
2009 According
to Arabic naming practices, my name reveals a fair bit about my family
history. In fact, a casual observer can trace my ancestry back three
generations – not to mention the nth generation in which the
original Diab lived. However, this only applies to
my male ancestors. My name keeps a discreet silence when it comes to my
female forebears. In It is
still common practice, at least in Anglo-Saxon society, for women to adopt
their husbands’ surnames. And a wife’s identity can be so subsumed by her
husband’s that she takes on his full name, especially in official
correspondences or more traditional ceremonies. Luckily
for my wife and I, given our belief in equality, this is not the practice
either in Nevertheless,
children still take on their father’s name. Of course, the practice may have
originated partly for practical reasons – my wife speculates that it may have
started off as a simple acknowledgement of paternity, a way for a man to say
to society that I recognise this child as mine, too, and the way for a woman
to ensure that he does his share of the caring. Nevertheless,
I find this inherently unfair to the mother. Because I am a Diab, that means I am labelled and pigeon-holed in
society’s consciousness as belonging to my father’s family but not my mother’s.
Where is
the mother acknowledged in all this? Barack Obama illustrates this conundrum well. Although his
father had little role in raising him, the president elect bears his name –
whereas his mother and her family get little acknowledgment, in his name, for
their far greater role. Personally,
I have previously toyed with the idea of taking on my mother’s surname, Khattab, at least informally, in order to acknowledge the
greater role she has played in my upbringing and my closer affinity to her
family. Intriguingly,
there is a tribe in It will
probably surprise many to learn that the Minangkabau are ardent Muslims. However,
they have striven to preserve their native matriarchal culture and strike a
balance between it and Islam’s more patriarchal worldview. And this
women-friendly society, which reveres the importance of learning, has not
done at all badly for itself, over-represented as it is in Indonesia’s
professional classes and top government offices. Unsurprisingly, the
country’s first female minister was a Minang. That
said, replacing patronymic names with matronymic ones is still not an ideal
solution, since they replace one inequality with another. My wife and I have
mused over how children could be named in a way that would be fair to both
parents. There’s the option of merging family names. But, here
in Belgium, that’s no longer possible – apparently it creates confusion
regarding people’s identity – while, in Egypt, the bureaucracy is so rigid as
to rule out such flexibility. Besides, given their profusion among the aristocracy,
double-barrelled names carry a certain pomposity that can be lived without. Another
option is to give alternate children alternate surnames. The drawbacks are
that you need to have at least two kids and, ideally, an even number of sprogs. It would also prove confusing to outsiders,
particularly the authorities, in terms of ascertaining parent-child and
child-child relations – which could actually be rather entertaining. It seems
there is no easy way to make naming practices egalitarian (i.e. both patronymic
and matronymic) without each of us being given a
name as along as the Channel Tunnel. But is showing lineage really that
important, at least when we become adults? Perhaps the only truly fair
solution is to let everyone invent or choose their own surname when they come
of age. That way, we’ll be celebrating the individual and sending out a
message that family is a private affair. This
column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section
on 16 November 2008. Read the related
discussion. ãCopyright 2009 – Khaled Diab.
Unless otherwise stated, all the content on this website is the copyright of Khaled Diab. |